J. Tomlin - The Winter Kill

“Then it would be more likely that it was an accident. She was lost in the snow. It can happen.”

“Aye,” the man said eagerly.

“But she died all the way across Perth from Saint Leonard, so how did she go so far? And why? If I cannae explain that to the lord sheriff, he won’t believe the story it was an accident. That is what made them think she did it deliberately. And where she died there were houses nearby. Even in the storm, she probably would have been able to reach one.”

“Mayhap she was seeking someone. There are craftsmen out that way, so that must be it. But how the devil are you ever going to find out?”

“You saw the letter she had written to her father.” Law tucked it away. “If she wrote to you, telt you why she might harm herself, it would save a great deal of scandal.”

Dunbar looked startled and snorted. “I look bad any road, and there is scandal no matter how it falls out.” He seemed to ponder Law for a moment and sighed. “What a to-do it all is and all for a woman.” “You’ll find another wife, scandal or no,” Law said.

“Aye. But if they noise about that I drove her to kill herself, the King will nae like it.” He looked into his cup morosely before filling it again. "He dotes on the Queen, you ken. But I dinnae see why one woman is different from another."

There was the sound of hoof beats and neighing outside. Dunbar jumped to his feet, looking happy to escape his thoughts, and strode toward the door. Law followed more slowly, limping a bit. A gingery, trim man sat astride a fine chestnut palfrey a few strides from the steps. He looked down at them.

“Time to stop sulking about, Archie. Festivities are what you need. I’ll drag James and Duncan back with me. And some female company as well, so be ready. In two hours, mind.” His lip twisted in a leer. “Your friend can stay if you like.”

“His business is done here,” Archibald Dunbar said without bothering with an introduction.

The man waved his hand and turned his horse to canter out of the yard.

As he watched his friend leave, Dunbar muttered, “He never liked Jannet.”

“Why?”

“Said she was against him and wanted to tame me like a pet hound.” He absently scratched his stubbled cheek. “There’s no more I can tell you. Now I have to have my steward find something in this hole to drink.” He turned his back and trudged toward the door.

“Where were you the night before last?” Law asked.

Duncan paused but didn’t turn back around. “If you think I harmed her, you’re wrong. I was in Stirling. Aye, ’tis not a long ride, but I had company the night. And if she was nae at Saint Leonard’s, how could I have kent where she was?” He continued into the house and let the door slam behind him.

There were ways Dunbar might have known where Jannet was, perhaps having arranged a meeting with her.

Law rubbed his chin, thinking over Dunbar’s story. Finding some particular whore in Stirling would be hard unless… If she was a favorite of Dunbar or of his friends, she might be nearer than that. In spite of the near invitation, clearly Law was not welcome for their revelry. A minstrel, however, might be.

Maister Kennedy was one of those priests, and Law had met a number of them, who would have suited armor more than the black cassock he wore. He was a tall, lean, pale-eyed man with an effortless look of strength, probably some family’s younger son who had been disposed of into the church. Law wondered whether he was as unsuited to it as he looked.

“Sit,” Kennedy said. He went to a sideboard against an oak linenfold wall. “Join me in a glass of wine, Sir Law.”

Law went through his story of being ordered by the lord sheriff to investigate Jannet’s death.

“Och, so you are to rule out suicide.”

“Or establish it.”

Kennedy raised his eyebrow. “Why come to me?”

“It’s common gossip that you were a close friend of the lady and that you were helping to send the case of her marriage to Rome.”

The priest leaned back and considered Law. “Once, soon after I was first ordained, John de Lindsay-rightful Bishop of Glasgow, you ken, though still disputing it with the pope-was to celebrate the Mass here in Perth and commanded the best boys’ choir. Maister Riddoch was the song maister at the time and would have the honor to train the boys’ choir. But it was a chance for me, one hard to come by, to show what I could do. He had a cousin in Edinburgh whom he had had offended over a posting of a canon. The man offered to help me by sending a letter that Maister Riddoch’s mother was failing, about to die, in order to lure him away and thus do Riddoch a bad turn in return. It would have given me the honor as his assistant of leading the choir before the bishop. My rise in the church would have been guaranteed for I am a better song maister than Riddoch ever thought of being.” He handed a filled goblet to Law and sat behind his desk. “I dinnae do business so, Sir Law. I am an honest man.”

“So you are saying…?”

“That I have nothing to hide, so ask your questions.”

“I must prove what happened.”

“And to prove a thing like that you have to ask private questions of everyone who kent her, I suppose. It would nae look good to the lord sheriff if someone refused.”

“Probably not.”

“Mayhap I should send a brother to Sir William to tell him how well you are doing in your work for him. He’d want to hear about that.”

“Kind of you to mention. I’m sure that he would.”

“By the Saints, you did nae even twitch. I see sleekit students every day, but none could match you.”

Law raised his eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“Och, give over. The lord sheriff would nae bring someone in to go about asking awkward questions, nor send you to me, a priest. So who is really paying you? Someone with a grudge against me?”

Law studied the song maister a silent moment and then said, “It is no great secret. Her father is paying me, but I was not lying. The lord sheriff agreed to it and is holding off the assize while I try to find out what happened.”

Kennedy gave a small nod. “I heard that he put it off but had nae heard why. Nor did I want to cause gossip by inquiring.”

“So the story that you were good friends is true. That you were helping her with the dissolution of the marriage?”

“She had been forced into a marriage against the laws of the church. I was in a position to have the papers drawn up that she could send to the Holy See.” Kennedy sighed. “In a way, I blame myself for her death. The papers were at a little house I inherited near the Northgate Port. I gave her the key and told her she could retrieve them to be sent to the Curia. I had no idea she would go when there were such signs of a storm, but… Still I blame myself. I dinnae ken why she would have done something so foolhardy.”

“So that is why she was outwith the gates. Do you think it possible someone lured her away from the house? Would anyone have reason to do that?”

Kennedy’s heavy face was still and grim. “I dinnae ken any reason why someone would hurt the poor lady. She was gentle. Kind. Whether she was at my house, I dinnae ken. I have nae been there since the storm. If she had the papers, that would tell.”

“I’ll need to check your house to see if there is any sign of her being there.”

Kennedy frowned. “She had the key, so you’ll need to ask the lord sheriff or his men about that.”

”You could nae just give the papers to her?”

“We agreed it was best to avoid more gossip. The canonesses at Saint Leonard’s were already gossiping enough.”

There were several obvious gaps in the song maister’s story. A big one was that nothing had been said about a key found on Jannet’s body. Checking on that would be his first target. “Her father is convinced someone killed her. He says she would have never wandered out into a storm or tried to kill herself that way.”